Zusatztext A good! old-fashioned! barn-burning! beat-the-clock thriller. The Denver Post Terrifying . . . Velocity will have readers turning the pagesand checking to make sure their doors are locked and bolted.Associated Press An outstanding roller-coaster ride . . . an edge-of-your-seat thriller . . . with multi-dimensional characters! agonizing suspense and a plot filled with . . . twists [from] America's finest storyteller. The Washington Examiner A top-notch thriller full of well-drawn characters and anxiety-spiked sequences. Chicago Tribune Informationen zum Autor Dean Koontz Klappentext NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER If you don't take this note to the police . . . I will kill a lovely blond schoolteacher. . . . If you do . . . I will instead kill an elderly woman active in charity work. You have six hours to decide. The choice is yours. The typewritten note under his windshield seems like just a sick joke. But in less than twenty-four hours, Billy Wiles, an ordinary, hardworking guy, is about to see his life take on the speed of a nightmare. Because a young blond schoolteacher is murdered-and now Billy has another note. And another deadline. This time he knows it's no joke. He's racing a killer faster than evil itself. And Billy must accept his terrifying challenge: The choice is yours. Think fast. Fear never slows down. . . . Leseprobe Part 1 The Choice is Yours Chapter One With draft beer and a smile, Ned Pearsall raised a toast to his deceased neighbor, Henry Friddle, whose death greatly pleased him. Henry had been killed by a garden gnome. He had fallen off the roof of his two-story house, onto that cheerful-looking figure. The gnome was made of concrete. Henry wasn't. A broken neck, a cracked skull: Henry perished on impact. This death-by-gnome had occurred four years previously. Ned Pearsall still toasted Henry's passing at least once a week. Now, from a stool near the curve of the polished mahogany bar, an out-of-towner, the only other customer, expressed curiosity at the enduring nature of Ned's animosity. How bad a neighbor could the poor guy have been that you're still so juiced about him? Ordinarily, Ned might have ignored the question. He had even less use for tourists than he did for pretzels. The tavern offered free bowls of pretzels because they were cheap. Ned preferred to sustain his thirst with well-salted peanuts. To keep Ned tipping, Billy Wiles, tending bar, occasionally gave him a bag of Planters. Most of the time Ned had to pay for his nuts. This rankled him either because he could not grasp the economic realities of tavern operation or because he enjoyed being rankled, probably the latter. Although he had a head reminiscent of a squash ball and the heavy rounded shoulders of a sumo wrestler, Ned was an athletic man only if you thought barroom jabber and grudge-holding qualified as sports. In those events, he was an Olympian. Regarding the late Henry Friddle, Ned could be as talkative with outsiders as with lifelong residents of Vineyard Hills. When, as now, the only other customer was a stranger, Ned found silence even less congenial than conversation with a foreign devil. Billy himself had never been much of a talker, never one of those barkeeps who considered the bar a stage. He was a listener. To the out-of-towner, Ned declared, Henry Friddle was a pig. The stranger had hair as black as coal dust with traces of ash at the temples, gray eyes bright with dry amusement, and a softly resonant voice. That's a strong wordpig. You know what the pervert was doing on his roof? He was trying to piss on my dining-room windows. Wiping the bar, Billy Wiles didn't even glance at the tourist. He'd heard this st...

“A good, old-fashioned, barn-burning, beat-the-clock thriller.”—The Denver Post
 
“Terrifying . . . Velocity will have readers turning the pages—and checking to make sure their doors are locked and bolted.”—Associated Press
 
“An outstanding roller-coaster ride . . . an edge-of-your-seat thriller . . . with multi-dimensional characters, agonizing suspense and a plot filled with . . . twists [from] America’s finest storyteller.”—The Washington Examiner
 
“A top-notch thriller full of well-drawn characters and anxiety-spiked sequences.”—Chicago Tribune

Autorentext

Dean Koontz

Klappentext

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER

If you don't take this note to the police . . . I will kill a lovely blond schoolteacher. . . . If you do . . . I will instead kill an elderly woman active in charity work. You have six hours to decide. The choice is yours.

The typewritten note under his windshield seems like just a sick joke. But in less than twenty-four hours, Billy Wiles, an ordinary, hardworking guy, is about to see his life take on the speed of a nightmare. Because a young blond schoolteacher is murdered-and now Billy has another note. And another deadline. This time he knows it's no joke. He's racing a killer faster than evil itself. And Billy must accept his terrifying challenge: The choice is yours.

Think fast. Fear never slows down. . . .

Zusammenfassung
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
 
If you don’t take this note to the police . . . I will kill a lovely blond schoolteacher. . . . If you do . . . I will instead kill an elderly woman active in charity work. You have six hours to decide. The choice is yours.
 
The typewritten note under his windshield seems like just a sick joke. But in less than twenty-four hours, Billy Wiles, an ordinary, hardworking guy, is about to see his life take on the speed of a nightmare. Because a young blond schoolteacher is murdered—and now Billy has another note. And another deadline. This time he knows it’s no joke. He’s racing a killer faster than evil itself. And Billy must accept his terrifying challenge: The choice is yours.
 
Think fast. Fear never slows down. . . .

Leseprobe
*Part 1
The Choice is Yours

Chapter One*

With draft beer and a smile, Ned Pearsall raised a toast to his deceased neighbor, Henry Friddle, whose death greatly pleased him.

Henry had been killed by a garden gnome. He had fallen off the roof of his two-story house, onto that cheerful-looking figure. The gnome was made of concrete. Henry wasn’t.

A broken neck, a cracked skull: Henry perished on impact.

This death-by-gnome had occurred four years previously. Ned Pearsall still toasted Henry’s passing at least once a week.

Now, from a stool near the curve of the polished mahogany bar, an out-of-towner, the only other customer, expressed curiosity at the enduring nature of Ned’s animosity.

“How bad a neighbor could the poor guy have been that you’re still so juiced about him?”

Ordinarily, Ned might have ignored the question. He had even less use for tourists than he did for pretzels.

The tavern offered free bowls of pretzels because they were cheap. Ned preferred to sustain his thirst with well-salted peanuts. To keep Ned tipping, Billy Wiles, tending bar, occasionally gave him a bag of Planters.

Most of the time Ned had to pay for his nuts. This rankled him either because he could not grasp the economic realities of tavern operation or because he enjoyed being rankled, probably the latter.

Although he had a head reminiscent of a squash ball and the heavy rounded shoulders of a sumo wrestler, Ned was an athletic man only if you thought barroom jabber and grudge-holding qualified as sports. In those events, he was an Olympian.

Regarding the late Henry Friddle, Ned could be as talkative with outsiders as with lifelong residents of Vineyard Hills. When, as now, the only other customer was a stranger, Ned found silence even less congenial than conversation with a “foreign d…